The Storm Before The Calm
by Jessica Simpson-Bourget
Summary: A link between Battle of the Exes and An American Family, featuring Sam and Diane's storied yet unseen first trip to The Pequod. Also an effort to exorcise the negative feelings I have about the former episode by reconciling it with my love for the latter.


"You kissed Carla." It wasn't so much a statement as an indictment. And the tenth time she'd spoken those words during the last ten minutes of their journey out to the island. As the ferry pulled into port at The Pequod, Sam found himself ruing that bout with honesty he'd lost when he confessed his transgression to Diane, who now bore a deep dimple of distress in her chin. Actually, he didn't think of it as a confession or transgression as much as a brag. He thought he'd done something noble for a friend who'd just had her heart broken for millionth time that year. Surely Diane wouldn't see Carla as any kind of threat— how could she? It was _Carla_, for crying out loud. And Diane… well, even mad as she was at that moment, he couldn't imagine himself ever wanting anyone more. Nevertheless, the stony silence was palpable when they disembarked.

"How could you?" she whispered finally, the tears in her voice sending a sharp pang through Sam's heart. He could never stand to see her cry.

"Sweetheart…" he began.

"No!" She stepped off the boat and made a dash down the dock toward the lobby.

He watched her flaxen hair swirl on the increasing winds, a beacon on an ever-darkening shoreline, as she ran with hurried, yet deliberate strides away from him. Sam could only sigh and follow. The stevedore-slash-bellman who helped him with the bags nodded sympathetically.

"I know that feeling, brother. Women…"

"Yup. Well, it's not the first time and it won't be the last. She's worth it," Sam nodded, reassuring himself more than anyone else. "These are going to 'Malone's' room," he continued, pressing a fiver into the young man's palm, "I've got some damage control to do."

Diane was nowhere to be found in the lobby, so he went out the side door toward the low sea cliff. There she sat on a piling, shivering against the cold evening air, watching the waves churn angrily against the rocks below. The ocean was as furious as she was, and she took satisfaction from every loud breaker. She didn't know why she felt such rage bubble up inside of her when Sam told her what had happened after Nick and Loretta's wedding. Rationally, she knew Sam had no romantic interest in Carla. Still, the idea of him sharing such an intimacy with anyone other than her rankled. She felt betrayed by him and bested by Carla.

Apart from that debauched night Carla lied to her, Diane had never given the slightest thought to a Sam and Carla dalliance. The absurdity of that notion had been an unconscious source of comfort to her. In a world where every woman seemed to have her sights set on her man, the bar family was a place of security and rest. Now, not even that was safe— not because she feared it would go any further, but because now Carla had something on her. Carla of all people!

Carla now knew the feeling of Sam's lips on hers, had tasted him. She'd tried for so long to befriend her, getting nothing but caustic personal attacks in return— attacks which had only escalated since she and Sam started dating. How could she respond to Carla trotting out that bit of dirt whenever it suited her vindictive little mind? Sam had kissed her, and that bell could not be unrung.

The last vestiges of sunlight faded from the shore, and the coastal gusts gathered dark clouds over the ocean. The air was perfumed with the ozone of an impending nor'easter as lightning played on the horizon. Sam pulled up the collar on his coat. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she controlled the weather with her mood.

He didn't know what to say to her. He was blindsided by her reaction, and couldn't imagine that she thought anything more of it than what it was. Even Carla called it by its right name: a pity kiss, though he'd never admit it to her. Now here they stood, about to get rained on and all he could think about was getting her inside.

"Diane… would you look at me?" Not even a glance. "Fine, you don't have to look at me, but I'm gonna talk anyway." Sam's mind raced for an out, but came full stop when his moral compass told him that this time, he didn't need one. He threw up his hands in defeat… or was it surrender? "Ah hell, I don't know what to say. I can't believe you're angry about this. You gotta believe me. It was nothing. If it was something, I wouldn't have told you."

Diane leapt to her feet, her worst suspicions confirmed. "Oh, _that's_ comforting! Thank you, Sam, for easing my mind. I'll only worry when you _don't_ tell me anything."

Sam looked at her blankly, mouth agape as he searched for words. Damn it, she was just too fast sometimes.

"I'm going to check into the room now. If I were you, I'd ask if they've got a another room available, or else you can sleep on the dunes, or with the fish for all I care, because you certainly _won't_ be sleeping with me!"

She turned on her heel, and the indignant toss of her hair was punctuated by a loud crack of thunder that made her jump. Recovering quickly, she stormed off to the front desk, secured her key and ensconced herself in the dark, tastefully furnished Room 12. Wanting nothing more than to shrug off the last half hour, she showered and changed, readying herself for a night of rumination and non-sleep.

Momentarily, there was a knock on the door.

"Diane?"

Silence. She stared at the door defiantly as Sam's knocks grew more insistent. Thunder rumbled outside and Diane steeled her nerve. She really didn't know where this was going, but she'd be damned if she was going to be the one to cave.

"Diane! Are you gonna open this door or do I have to make my case to the whole inn?!"

Diane shook her head. She'd always believed herself to be the more reasonable of the two. The one who kept the dialogue going, seeking understanding and harmony, but not today. Nope, she was not going to cave. Not this time.

"Diane?! Hey, Diane, you in there?!" He banged even more loudly. God, was he kicking the door too?

Her sense of social decorum overcame her pride. Mortified by the racket, Diane scurried to the door to let him in.

"Shhhh! What do you think you're doing? This isn't a bar room. This is an inn where people paid good money for quiet and a decent night's rest!"

Another crack of thunder shook the walls, and Diane flinched as a flash of lightning filled the room. Rain began to lash at the windowpanes.

"Well, they sure aren't sleeping through _this_ storm." Sam walked to the window and closed the heavy drapes, shutting out Mother Nature's light show. Diane relaxed a little at that, but not enough.

"You know, I'm beginning to realize that the concepts of monogamy and intimacy are lost on you. Kissing Carla is 'nothing'… the words 'I love you'? Also 'nothing'… reserved for everyone and no one in particular. Is there nothing sacred?"

Sam had no idea what she was looking for in this conversation. In fact, part of him felt it must be a trap, nonsensical as it seemed to him. Still, she was on a tear, and he knew he needed to hold his ground somehow.

"Sacred? What the hell are you talking about? I can't believe we're still going on about this!" Sam gave her a long look and moved across the room to the fireplace. "It's cold in here. I'll build a fire."

Diane was still angry, but grateful for the offer. It _was_ a bit chilly, and the champagne-colored silk peignoir she'd brought was doing nothing to warm her. Obliquely, she wondered when Sam would notice what she was wearing, and immediately chided herself for the rogue thought. As a matter of fact, he had noticed, and was doing his damnedest to focus on anything but her state of undress. Thus, a fine, roaring fire was built in no time flat.

"Of course _you_ can't believe it! A kiss is just a kiss, after all! Kiss me, kiss Carla, kiss anyone who crosses your path. What's the difference?"

Diane paced back and forth like a prosecutor. It was getting very difficult for Sam to keep his earnest thoughts on track with her moving across the room that way. The peignoir left very little of her figure to the imagination, and it was tough to keep his mind from wandering, especially as she walked away.

"First of all, I don't kiss just anyone who crosses my path. I'm with _you_ now. Despite what you think of me, I _am_ a one woman guy. And second, a kiss is not just a kiss. Kissing Carla is nothing like kissing you."

Another crack of thunder penetrated their increasingly cozy space, and the rain poured down hard on the roof. Seizing upon his words, Diane wheeled around abruptly to address him.

"Oh really? And what, pray tell, is so very different?" Diane dared him to give her something, anything that would make her feel special. She deserved that much.

Sam was now thoroughly exasperated. She had a way of grinding him at every turn, and it made him crazy to know she'd cornered him yet again.

"You wanna know what's different? I'll tell you what's different: I don't _love_ Carla!"

The words spilled out before he could stop them and Diane froze in her tracks. Sam froze too, his eyes darting around the room, as though looking for the source of that outburst. She turned back to look at him, holding her breath and waiting for him to try to take it back or tap dance around his true meaning, but he didn't. He just stood there, a deer in the headlights. Her eyes misted over, and a broad smile spread across her face as she rushed headlong into his arms.

"Oh, Sam! Do you? Love me?"

Sam's instinctive urge to withdraw was overwhelmed by how good it felt to hold her in his arms again. He was a gifted storyteller, but he couldn't deny the truth. He couldn't deny her. Not like this.

"Yeah… you know I do."

He felt her tremble against his chest and looked down at her.

"Is that okay?"

She turned her face up to look at him with tears blurring her vision. Her smile filled every corner of Sam's heart. All at once it was beautifully clear to her. She didn't give a damn what Carla said or thought. Sam loved her. He loved her and wanted to take care of her. She looked around the room and saw that he'd been doing it all along. The luggage in the room, the closed drapes, the cheery fire… all for her comfort… all to make her feel safe, and the truth of it was it worked—she never felt safer in her whole life. He not only told her, he showed her what she meant to him, and had been doing so for some time now. Their fight and everything that went before suddenly seemed like so much nonsense in light of this revelation.

"Oh Sam, it's better than okay. It's wonderful," she exclaimed, her blue eyes bright with happy tears. "I love you too."

If someone fired up John Phillip Sousa's band and skyrockets went off, Sam couldn't have been more elated. She _loved_ him. Of course, he'd long felt it, but to actually hear her say it was something altogether different, and he was taken aback by the emotion those words inspired. If he did nothing else remarkable in his life, he figured that would be enough. Diane Chambers loved him, and that was all he needed.

Sam pulled her tight to him and guided her to the four-poster bed, where they climbed beneath a big, downy comforter and listened to the storm rail outside, both suddenly at peace with a world that seemed to be combusting around them.

"Say, not to change the subject or anything, but I've been meaning to tell you how much I like this nightgown you've got on…"

Diane smiled a knowing smile, and all thoughts of Carla, the fight and the storm were sent swiftly out to sea.


End file.
